


You Can't Forget (They Won't Let You)

by pariahpirate



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Bullying, Gen, Hurt, Magitek Prompto, Mild Comfort, Self-Esteem Issues, Spoilers for Ch 9 and 13, Understandable prejudice and violence, lightly insinuated body horror, understandable but not dismissable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 00:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9266543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pariahpirate/pseuds/pariahpirate
Summary: There is a difference betweenwhathe is andwhohe is. His friends love him unconditionally, regardless for the former and especially for the latter. That's how he knows everything will be okay.





	

**Author's Note:**

> De-Anon for the FFXV kink meme!
> 
> Prompt:  
> Somehow word gets out that Prompto is an MT, and people are downright rude because why would the prince be traveling with a dangerous thing is beyond them: refusing him service if the group is at a restaurant, calling him (extremely degrading) names (i.e. "it" or "thing"), threatening him, someone pepperspraying Prompto in the face, etc. The Chocobros come to his defense each time
> 
> Bonus if Prompto is taking a photo, the bros are watching him when some random asshole decides to take the camera and bash it against Prompto's face, effectively giving him an injury and breaking the camera and then spitting on Prompto.

He knows he isn't human. He knows he's only as human as he looks, and no farther than that, because there's deamon blood in his veins, preprogrammed behaviors in his limbs, and predestined urges beneath his skin. And he's never allowed to forget that. 

Growing up, it was just himself. It was just him that kept him from forgetting and losing himself to the lie of his humanity. He would cover his barcode but at the end of the day it still tortured him. Dark ink, forever marking him as something made. Made, not born. He would look into the tall bedroom mirror but at the end of the week he wouldn't see his reflection as his own. A thin, sharp face that everyone back at the facility had worn, with empty eyes and telltale freckles. 

(He was thankful his adoptive parents were never home. How many mirrors had he wrecked simply because it wasn't him staring back? How many mirrors lie in the dump bearing deep etched gashes in the glass, like they'd been clawed by something beastly?)

Now is different, but still somehow the same. 

He's more fragile than he might have been a month ago, a year ago. He has no idea how long he was held captive by Ardyn in that place - in Hell, _his home, the place of his creation_ \- and his friends refuse to give him straight answers. They dance around the harshness of the subject, and instead do their best to bring him towards happier things. Human things. 

(There is a reason why Prompto took up photography. There's an itch in his fingers to point metal towards people and pull a trigger and watch bits of their soul be revealed to him. That itch has always been there. It will always be there. Photography is the harmless form of a gun, he's found. He's not very good, but it quells the urge. He doesn't want to kill. But he knows it's in him, like a waiting switch.)

He's thankful for his friends. They say they don't care about what he is or what he could have been. They say he's special to them. A beloved, one of a kind type of special. Of that, he's grateful, but he's not sure that they truly understand. He's completely unremarkable, one of thousands, and they would know it too, if they knew what sleeping Magiteks looked like under their masks. 

And he's trying his best to keep it all together as Gladio drops into a ready fighting stand above him. As Noctis begins to speak, a regal and acidic tone stealing away all the softness that usually lies there in his throat. As Ignis uses his cane to force the perpetrator back, sharp words coming to Noctis' aid when the other's rage stunts his tongue. 

And he's trying his best to keep it all together as his palms sting from the fall, as his gaze is glued to the remains of his camera. It's half a meter away from him, shattered like so many mirrors and like mirrors he can't fix it. It's gone. His camera is gone. He'd gone without food for a month (because he knew he could) to pay for that camera. It was such a nice camera and the click of the shutter felt and sounded just as good as the click of a gun and -

And it's gone and he's gone. 

"- Prom. Prompto - no, no stop-"  
"You're right here. We're in Lestallum, soon to be leaving."  
"May I have your hands? I smell blood."

His friends. Oh. They had seen that. 

There's something wet on his cheek. The man's spit? Or his own tears? Whatever it was, he feels somebody's thumb brush it away. He feels the soothing warmth of a potion being applied, messily. Must have been Ignis, still coming to terms with his limits. 

(Prompto knows his limits. He knows exactly what would become of him if he pressed them like Gladio always championed.)

"My- my camera..." His voice cracks. It sound weak and pathetic. 

"We'll get you a new one." Noctis vows, moving to help him stand. Prompto can't meet his gaze, and instead looks at his hands. The skin is whole and an angry red from the freshly healed scraped, speckled with blood that's two shades darker that it should be. 

(It's even darker sometimes. Darkened by adrenaline, he thinks. It terrifies him.)

He doesn't talk much for the car ride back towards Hammerhead. He knows why they're heading back there. Ever since word got out about what he truly is, Hammerhead is the only place that will serve him. 

(It took four days for Cindy to even come near him again. That hurt. It still does, even after her apologies. The worst part is that he completely understands.)

Not everybody knows, Noctis and Ignis try to insist. But Ignis is blind now and Noctis was never the most observant person. Meanwhile Prompto has been trained for years to recognize malice in the stares of others. Not everybody knows the truth, but it feels like it's everyone. He can't even blame them. From the point of view of the average person, he's the Empire in a safe, punchable form - and what person doesn't want to punch the Empire?

It helps that Noctis is not easily recognizable for what he is. The people all know that Lucis' beloved Prince-now-King is traveling about, gathering strength and wisdom as he fights the Empire when he can - but nobody knows what he looks like. It had been a careful thing, guarded and revealed to a relatively low amount of people. So when people hear of the Crown Prince traveling with an MT - well not everyone knows what to look for. 

But there are so many that know all too well. 

(He slouches to the side. He tries to make his body relax, but there's no fully erasing the military posture that's been bred and beaten into him.)

They have to stop at an outpost for the night. The Crow's Nest there refuses to even let him inside. 

("That thing's dangerous. It'd disturb my other customers.")

He tells Noct to save him some fries and he'll wait by the car. It's fine, he says. He insists. Gladio frowns and goes off to secure a room at the motel. Noctis says he's just going to get food to go and that he'll be right back. They leave Ignis behind with him, with unspoken instructions clear to all. _Keep each other safe._

Neither of them notice the brisk pace of a woman in the rear view mirrors until it's too late and she has a can of pepper spray aimed at his face. 

Pepper spray, as it turns out, burns like a bitch. 

He screams and the woman starts screaming as well, which is all rather sudden for Iggy, whose sense of smell has adjusted to compensate the loss of his eyesight but not his hearing (yet). The woman is screaming heartbreaking words and her voice is choked with bitter grief, and Prompto's screaming in pain, and when Iggy catches up he starts screaming too - words of outrage and condemnation. He thinks he even hears Iggy play the blind card, which means he's playing everything he's got in Prompto's defense. 

"My husband and brother died to Magitek Troopers like that _thing!_ " She screeches and Prompto, through red and watery eyes, can tell she's also crying.

"How can you stand it? How can you even keep it around?" She's causing a scene. He can feel so many eyes on them, and the stares are beginning to turn sour. 

"You should kill it! After all- you- you're from Insomnia! You know what they've done to us!"

They're not going to be able to come back here. It's his fault. 

(He had escaped the place he was born when he was six, the youngest of a group of self-declared rebels that were slated to be culled for 'defects'. He thinks back to that mad dash of survival often, and always comes to the conclusion that he should have stayed and died. It would just be better that way, wouldn't it?)

" _He_ is a person and I quite enjoy being around _him_." Ignis snarls right back, and he's not exactly facing her but the words hit their mark all the same. 

He feels something touch his face. Fingers, gentle and meticulous, then liquid. It smells like milk and the burn of the pepper spray eases. 

Iggy's still yelling at the woman and she's still yelling back. He's completely lost his composure. Prompto didn't even know that was possible.

"What is it to you? Like your trained pet MT?" The woman hisses.

" _Prompto_ is not a pet nor is he trained to be anything. He's a person and my _friend_." Noctis is back, having pushed his way through the crowd with a bag of takeout in his hand. His face is unearthly calm. He stands in the center of the crowd, tall and strong with his shoulders squared. There can be no mistake, everyone knows he's the prince, the future king. It's written all over him, every inch, every iota. 

The regality which carries him is enough to thin the crowd. Gladio, who was right behind him with massive fucking sword drawn and ready, clears out the rest. 

The woman's face is pinched. Argumentative. But she crumples and folds under Noctis' unforgiving stare, and she too leaves. 

Gladio dismisses his sword and is the first to speak. 

"Got you a present." He says, and he holds out a cheap disposable camera with a weak, sad smile. 

"Just something to tide you over until we get to Hammerhead. We asked Cindy to track down and get you a better one. She called earlier saying it's ready and waiting for you." He adds as he places the disposable camera in Prompto's lap. 

He can't move. Can't speak. Can barely breath. His friends beautiful and kind and all too good. They love him. They really, truly do. 

And he's gonna be okay. 

(He will never be allowed to forget what he is, but he will never be allowed to forget who he is, either.)

**Author's Note:**

> I indulged in some of my lighter MT headcanons, and if you guys liked this well... I have more stuff in the works, because this body-horror monster transformation shit is right up my alley. And if Square Enix isnt gonna flesh this out, _I will_


End file.
